


solider on like nothing's wrong

by bowlingfornerds



Series: tumblr prompts [11]
Category: The 100
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cannibalism, F/M, Reaper!Lincoln
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-14
Updated: 2015-09-14
Packaged: 2018-04-20 19:15:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4799189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bowlingfornerds/pseuds/bowlingfornerds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From an anon on tumblr: Hey! Could you do a dabble on linctavia, when Lincoln is a reaper but he hurts Octavia and when he wakes up and Octavia is badly injured and unconscious please?</p><p>A little Linctavia drabble, with cannibalism references and that love-overcoming-all-bullshit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	solider on like nothing's wrong

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Sunshine, by Kids In Glass Houses.

If Lincoln looked back on being a reaper, he would say that he felt everything. He felt every murder in his gut; the blood on his hands and the way that he ripped his teeth through the flesh of another man. He would say that he knew everything that was happening as it was happening – but he had no control over his actions.

This wouldn’t be the truth.

The truth that was Lincoln just saw red. He barely saw the landscape, the trees, the people. He saw the blood in it all, and that’s what he was now wired to search for: blood. He still couldn’t control his actions, but he had no opinions on it. He believed nothing more than this was his life, and that the people in front of him were made to be his meal – to satisfy the urge that tensed his hands and darkened his eyes.

Lincoln would later say that he recognised the faces. But that was a lie, too. He didn’t recognise the faces of his victims because he’d never met many of them before. They were travellers, or unlucky, or just too far gone to have anything recognisable about their features. But when he saw something familiar, there was a tug in his gut.

He saw it first with the face tattoos of a victim, that looked a whole-lot like Nyko’s. Next, with Anya’s hair and Lexa’s clothes. Last, it was Octavia.

When he saw her, first, it was red, like always. Instead of seeing the person, he saw the blood that was pumping through her veins that he wanted nothing more than to drink. There was an animalistic craving inside of him, and it was what made him surge forward. She was on the ground; blood coating her face and her eyes shut.

Thoughts were incoherent with Lincoln, but he considered her dead. With no one else around, he ran for her, skidding along the ground and swiping her hair from her face – he liked to go for the neck first, he found. It meant that they died quicker and his meal was more silent.

But, as Lincoln looked down, there was a familiar sensation in the pit of his stomach. It was like a sinking weight, hitting his gut and making him falter – and a reaper never faltered. Lincoln couldn’t speak in his condition, but he grunted instead, shoving her head to the side to stare at the girl’s face just a little longer.

He didn’t know her name, nor why she was so memorable, but he gently set her head back down. His red was still there; the blood dripping from her face and a veil over his sight. But he knew that girl, he was sure.

Later, Lincoln would say that he knew it was Octavia, unconscious on the ground, but that would be a lie, as well. He didn’t know it was her; not her name, not her face, nothing about her. But he knew she was important.

Lincoln trudged away from her, fighting every instinct in his drug-induced body to go back and feast on her flesh like all of the other reapers, but he couldn’t. The red was dwindling a little for him, and the only coherent thought that he had was to find others. The girl’s face was already fading from his mind; the braids in her hair, her fresh, pale skin dripping with blood. He moved forward though, making loud movements until he heard voices.

“Stop,” someone said. “What was that?” Lincoln grunted loudly, hitting a tree with his fist. That was the best he could do before the footsteps approached carefully. He moved backwards, always out of their sight, still making noises. Lincoln couldn’t tell what he was doing – he couldn’t comprehend his actions – but he lead the strangers in the direction of the unconscious girl on the ground, before running.

In the distance, he heard someone call out: “Octavia!” And Lincoln ran faster, not liking the feeling in his stomach over knowing that name so well.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Remember to hit up the kudos and that I love getting comments! I'd love to know what you thought!


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